Chapter 4 - THE CAR KEYS WERE GONE.
Alan slept for forty-three minutes.
He knew because when he opened his eyes, the digital clock beside the hotel bed read 3:17 a.m.
Joey was awake too.
She was sitting near the window in the desk chair with the curtains cracked open.
“What are you doing?”
She looked back.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
He sat up.
“Lie.”
She gave him the faintest smile.
“Little bit.”
Alan walked over.
The parking lot below was almost empty.
His rental car sat beneath a yellow lamp.
Joey looked down at it.
“I have treatment at nine.”
“We’ll be there.”
“I know.”
“You don’t sound like you know.”
She pulled the blanket around her shoulders.
“I’m used to planning it the night before.”
“With Mom?”
“With whether she was available.”
Alan leaned against the wall.
“What happened if she wasn’t?”
“Rideshare.”
“With whose card?”
“Mine.”
“You were saving money.”
“I know.”
“How much was it?”
“It depends.”
“Joey.”
“Sometimes fifty each way.”
Alan stared.
“That hospital is forty minutes away.”
“I know.”
“You did that more than once?”
She looked through the window.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t Mom take you?”
“She had things.”
“What things?”
“Lunch.”
Alan blinked.
Joey noticed his expression.
“Not always lunch.”
“That didn’t help.”
She laughed once.
It came out dry.
For the first time since he had arrived, she sounded like herself.
Alan smiled.
Then her smile disappeared.
“She gave me her sedan for a while.”
“Okay.”
“Then she stopped.”
“Why?”
“I scratched a wheel.”
Alan frowned.
“How bad?”
“I hit a curb.”
“Were you sick?”
“I got dizzy.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“And she took the keys?”
“She said I was irresponsible.”
Alan rubbed his face.
“Where is that car now?”
“At the house.”
“Did she offer another way to get to treatment?”
“She said I needed to arrange things earlier.”
Alan looked at the clock.
3:29.
“We’re going back.”
Joey sat straighter.
“No.”
“To get the rest of your things.”
“We got enough.”
“Your winter clothes?”
“I don’t need them.”
“It’s October.”
“Alan.”
“Your documents?”
Silence.
“What documents?”
“My passport is there.”
“Where?”
“Desk drawer.”
“What else?”
“Birth certificate.”
Alan stared.
“Why didn’t you pack them?”
“I forgot.”
“Okay. We get them after treatment.”
Joey shook her head.
“I don’t want to go back.”
“You won’t.”
“What?”
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“That’s worse.”
Alan looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because she’ll know I told you.”
“She already knows.”
“Not everything.”
Alan stopped.
“What else is there?”
Joey stood.
“Can we do this after treatment?”
“No.”
“Alan.”
He looked at her face.
Exhaustion.
Fear.
And something else.
Shame.
He changed his answer.
“Okay.”
The hospital was already busy when they arrived.
Alan parked on the fourth level of the garage.
Joey stared at the elevator button.
He noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You keep looking at it.”
“I’m remembering parking.”
“Here?”
She nodded.
“By yourself?”
“Sometimes.”
Alan pressed the button.
“When?”
“After your mom stopped letting me use the car.”
“You took a rideshare to a parking garage?”
“No. When I still had the car.”
“What happened?”
Joey rubbed her wrist.
“I had treatment one afternoon.”
“Okay.”
“I got sick afterward.”
“In the hospital?”
“In the garage.”
Alan’s jaw tightened.
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call Mom?”
Joey looked at the elevator doors.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
The doors opened.
Joey stepped inside.
“She had people coming over.”
Alan followed.
“What did she say?”
“She said if I could drive there, I could drive back.”
The elevator started downward.
Alan watched the floor numbers change.
Four.
Three.
Two.
He did not trust himself to speak.
Joey touched his arm.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Turn every bad thing into the worst thing.”
Alan looked at her.
“I’m trying to understand.”
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
He lowered his voice.
“I’ve been receiving messages telling me you were eating, sleeping, getting rides, doing fine. Now I find out you were getting sick alone in parking garages.”
Joey’s face crumpled.
Alan immediately regretted the edge in his tone.
He reached for her.
“I’m not angry at you.”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking like I am.”
She leaned against him.
“I didn’t want you to come home and hate her.”
Alan stared at the closing elevator doors.
“That wasn’t your decision to make for me.”
Treatment lasted almost four hours.
Alan sat beside Joey the entire time.
He learned more from watching than from asking.
Joey apologized when the nurse adjusted her line.
She apologized when she needed another blanket.
She apologized when she could not finish the crackers.
At one point she asked Alan whether he thought it was okay if she took the unopened juice cup home.
The nurse heard.
“Of course.”
Joey smiled.
“Thanks.”
The nurse walked away.
Alan looked at her.
“Why did you ask?”
Joey glanced at the juice.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked tired.
“At your mom’s house, food got counted.”
Alan did not move.
“What does that mean?”
“She knew what she bought.”
“Everybody knows what they buy.”
“She knew exactly.”
Alan waited.
“If something disappeared, she noticed.”
“Something?”
“Yogurt. Fruit. Soup.”
“Did she tell you not to eat?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Alan stared.
“Joey.”
“She didn’t say I couldn’t eat.”
“What did she say?”
“She’d ask.”
“Ask what?”
“‘Did you have another yogurt?’”
Alan felt sick.
“Anything else?”
“‘Those berries were for Saturday.’”
He looked away.
“‘That soup was for lunch tomorrow.’”
Joey’s voice became smaller.
“After a while I just waited.”
“For what?”
“For her to tell me what was okay.”
Alan closed his eyes.
This was not starvation.
He refused to exaggerate it.
There had been food.
There had been a refrigerator.
But the result sat in front of him anyway.
A twenty-five-year-old woman asking permission to take home a hospital juice cup.
After treatment, Alan drove back toward Jessica’s neighborhood alone.
Joey stayed at the hotel.
He told her he would collect documents and nothing else.
Jessica answered the door before he knocked.
“You’re not taking my car.”
Alan stopped.
“I didn’t ask.”
“The sedan.”
“I have a rental.”
Jessica blinked.
Alan walked past her.
“Where are Joey’s documents?”
“Alan.”
“Passport. Birth certificate.”
“She keeps those.”
“In your desk?”
Jessica looked irritated.
“She asked me to put them somewhere safe.”
Alan went upstairs.
The drawer was empty.
He checked twice.
Then he walked back down.
“They’re not there.”
Jessica stood beside the staircase.
“I moved them.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“Stop speaking to me like I’m a criminal.”
“I asked where my wife’s passport is.”
Jessica turned toward the kitchen.
Alan followed.
She opened a cabinet near the pantry.
Nothing.
Another.
Nothing.
Then a drawer.
Inside were three sets of keys.
Alan recognized the sedan key immediately.
Beside it sat a handwritten note.
JOEY — NO CAR UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Alan lifted it.
Jessica’s face changed.
“That was after the wheel.”
“You wrote this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she could have killed somebody.”
“She got dizzy after treatment.”
“Exactly.”
“So you stopped her driving.”
“That was responsible.”
“And what did you arrange instead?”
Jessica stared at him.
Alan waited.
Finally she said, “She is an adult.”
Alan looked at the note.
Then at the car key.
Then at the woman who had spent months telling him she was taking care of his wife.
“Where are the documents?”
Jessica’s voice hardened.
“I told you. I moved them.”
“Find them.”
“No.”
Alan looked up.
Jessica crossed her arms.
“This is my house, Alan. You do not get to storm in here, accuse me, remove things, and dictate terms.”
“They belong to Joey.”
“I know.”
“Then give them back.”
Jessica stared at him.
“No.”
That one word clarified more than all her explanations had.
Alan took out his phone.
Jessica’s expression shifted.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing down exactly what you just said.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
Alan typed.
Jessica refused to return Joey’s passport and birth certificate when asked.
He showed her the screen.
“This accurate?”
For the first time, Jessica looked uncertain.
Then Alan noticed something behind her.
On the small hook beside the pantry were the keys to the side entrance.
A white label hung from them.
J.
Alan picked them up.
Jessica reached for his wrist.
“Put those down.”
He looked at her hand.
She released him.
“What are they?”
“You know what keys are.”
“What does the J mean?”
Jessica said nothing.
Alan turned the tag over.
May you like
On the back, written in the same neat handwriting as the cream-colored rules, were three words.
JOEY — SIDE ONLY.
